


Can't Seem To Command It

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: Nick can't stop noticing Brandon. Especially in all the ways that he really, really shouldn't.





	Can't Seem To Command It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firalla11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta! 
> 
> Title from Florence and the Machine.

Nick's done enough reading—the stealthy, under the covers with a flashlight kind, although if he's being honest he's mostly just talking about on his phone, but whatever—and he knows, he knows that you can't guess what people are into in bed just by looking at them. Or how they act around other people, especially people they work with. He knows that.

He still can't help but feel a little shiver go down his spine when he sees the way Brandon pushes back almost instinctively when Andy jumps on him and tries to wrestle the XBox controller out of his hands.

Andy's solid but he's not all that big, no matter how much he talks a good game, but he's wiry and he _grabs_ even when he's play-fighting. Nick's more than a little impressed when Saader manages to peel Shawzy off him in about two seconds flat, before tripping him so that Andy goes flying and lands face first on the couch next to Nick.

Andy being Andy, he bounces right back up again no worse for wear—and in fact leans down to high-five Saader for such a well-executed take-down.

Nick's friends are kind of giant dorks, really.

But it's not the first time he's seen that kind of—vibe, if he's going to be vague about it, which apparently he is—with Saader. The breathtakingly confident refusal to be pushed around in the slightest, even in the most mundane of ways. Nick's not sure he even realizes he does it, he's just-right there, being Saader, and not moving for anyone. Not unless he wants to. 

It's almost impressive how he seems to turn that off on the ice, though, because that's the one place Nick hasn't seen him do it.

It makes Nick feel a little itchy sometimes, under his skin, in a way that no amount of thinking seems to let him shake off. He's had to do a few extra workouts over the past few weeks just to try and tire himself out enough that he doesn't keep dwelling on how much he likes seeing Brandon push people around. On watching Brandon snort laughter and nearly spill his drink before tackling Andy or Smitty right back and just casually pinning them until they say uncle—or, in Shawzy's case, stubbornly try to play it like they're going to outwait him in an attempt to not have to give in.

The last time Shawzy tried that Brandon just shifted his weight, grabbed Andy's other hand as well, and then casually turned back to Nick to keep on talking like nothing was happening until Andy sighed heavily and gave in. Saader's so _patient_ , and that's doing things to Nick's insides just as much as the casual displays of dominance are. It makes him want to see what Brandon would be like if he really got to push that as far as he could, what it would be like to have Brandon kneeling over him, holding him down, making him ask—wait— _beg_ —for it.

Nick's getting ahead of himself, though, and not just in being way too nosy about what one of his teammates might like in bed. He doesn't even know if Saader's into _guys_ , since it's not exactly like that's a thing that anyone's going to just talk about. Not like all the casual discussion Nick's been around practically since high school that revolves around who got laid and where and how and what her cup size was. Nick's a little skeptical about how much truth is involved in any of those stories, but as much as he's occasionally found himself in a position to collect some stories of his own, it's not like he's usually sleeping with women.

And the part where he keeps accidentally imagining Saader holding him down, well. That's new too.

Nick's played around a bit, scened with women and men, in quiet, carefully organized meet-ups, discreet and safe. He's even played in a few relationships, which was harder in some ways—kind of a tough thing to bring up out of nowhere—but so, so much easier in others.

And the thing is, pretty much all that time: Nick's been the one who does the holding down.

It's a bit of an adjustment to his worldview, all of a sudden.

* * *

Nick keeps telling himself not to think about it too much, and for the most part he manages that. He doesn't think about Saader that way when he can help it, when he catches himself. Sometimes he slips up a little—usually when his hand's already on his dick, or in one particularly embarrassing moment, when he hooked up with an old college friend and managed to let himself get distracted mid-blowjob by thinking about what it would be like if it was Saader. 

That's not buddies, though, and he knows it. 

On either side, really, and he'd had to apologize to Steve, because it had to be kind of awful to have someone zone out while your dick was in their mouth. Not that Steve had done anything wrong, and Nick had only choked a little, lost the rhythm they were working in, and if he was being extremely honest with himself, that was kind of hot in its own way, too. 

He keeps himself firmly under control when he is around Saader; they're friends with very solid boundaries, ones that Nick states and reinforces whenever he needs to. That's his plan, anyway. 

Boundaries that keep somehow sliding away from him, leaving things like cuddling on the couch together and sharing the throw rug when Shawzy insists on leaving the heat set in the 50s. Things like standing close enough to share breath while they talk, and while they're showering, and changing. Things like good morning hugs when it's been a whole nine or ten hours since they last saw each other, and Nick has to finally admit that he's lying to himself when he realizes they've been leaning against the boards talking for over a minute and he still has his hand on the back of Saader's neck. He's warm, and his hair is a little damp, where he'd clearly showered in a hurry and not dried off entirely. Won't be able to get away with that when winter really sets in. 

Nick can't figure out why Brandon hasn't seemed to notice any of this stuff yet, though.

Saader just leans in and smiles at him and hugs him back all those times. At practice later that week, Saader wraps his arm right around Nick's neck and leans their foreheads together, practically cradling Nick's head and telling him what he'd missed on the last episode of the Amazing Race while they wait for everyone else to make their way out of the dressing room and onto the ice. Nick should be keeping an eye out to see who else is around—who else might be noticing, might be paying a little too much attention. It's not like their teammates are the only ones he has to worry about, either; there's cameras for BHTV because there always are, and there's the staff at Johnny's and oh, right, yeah, all the fans who turn up to watch their practices too.

It makes Nick want to hide, the thought of anyone looking at him—them—and knowing what he's thinking. What he wants. He has to do a better job of hiding that much at least, but he's afraid that all he's doing is looking back and telegraphing every last scrap of it.

Shawzy skates past and flicks a glove at the back of Nick's helmet, crowing something, and Nick comes back to himself, shakes his head like he's getting rid of a buzzing fly or something else intrusive and shakes off the mood.

"Get lunch later?" Saader asks him, still shoulder to shoulder with him, head turned to watch the guys ahead of them as they start looping around in slow circles before starting the next drill. 

"Sure," Nick says, agreeing before he can even run the request past his own thoughts. He always wants to say yes to Brandon, and if that's wrong, well. He'll deal with that when he gets to it.

"Awesome," Saader says, and then he finally backs off, lets his hand slip away from the back of Nick's head. Nick wants to lean in and chase that touch for a heartbeat, but then Q yells something and blows the whistle, and Nick puts it away for later. Now's for working. 

Practice is high tempo like it usually is, but it's over quickly; less than an hour before they're free to either work a little longer or to head straight back to the dressing room to stretch and warm down. It's early enough in the season that no one's all that dinged up yet, either, meaning muscle recovery is just that, and not much else going on. Nick's just glad to be spared the full body ice bath experience.

Saader stays out for a little longer than Nick had, practicing his wristers and then doing face-offs with Krugs and Shawzy, even though it's not like he's going to be taking all that many of them. Not on the top line, and so far as Nick can figure, Saader's not dropping down from there any time soon either. 

"Want to eat out or come back to mine?" Saader asks, flicking the corner of his towel at Nick's knee as he walks back in from the showers. 

Nick doesn't jump, and it doesn't really hurt either, but Saader'd got quite a good snap to it, and he has to respect that, really. Saader doesn't say a whole lot but he's good in the room, fits in in his own quiet way. Even though he's technically a rookie still Nick's seen him more than once be the guy who checks in on others, the one with the right word or look or gesture, sometimes before any of the other vets even get there. 

Nick's maybe more than a little smitten.

"Your place is fine," Nick says, and he finishes up getting dressed, does his best to hide the goofy grin that wants to take over his face. He can't act like it's something special to spend time with Saader off the ice, they have to be friends. Just friends. Nick knows better than this, dammit.

It's hard to tell himself that again by the time they get to Saader's apartment, though. Brandon detours through the kitchen to grab them both knives and forks and a handful of napkins, and then he and Nick wind up on the couch in front of the TV to eat. Saader has a perfectly good kitchen table and they've even sat at it to eat a few times, but unless it's something particularly messy more often than not they don't bother. Nick would be a giant hypocrite to complain anyway; he and Andy eat most of their meals on the couch and they don't even have the excuse of a tiny kitchen. Their apartment's pretty big as they go.

Saader sits close, turns so his back is to the arm of the couch and tucks his toes under Nick's thigh, as unselfconsciously as possible, like this is something they just do, and not something guys do with their girlfriends. Or boyfriends, probably; Nick's never really dated a guy long enough to be able to find that part out. But with Saader it just feels natural, normal, like a completely reasonable extension of how comfortable he and Nick are with each other. Nick tries to tell himself that Saader's like this with everyone, but he's not sure that's totally true.

Saader sits closer to Nick than he does to anyone else, and Nick can't even successfully lie to himself about that because he's spent too long cataloging it, half-gratified and half-terrified when every time it shows that he's the closest. That he gets more of Saader than anyone else.

It scares him almost as much as it makes him proud.

Saader says something, but Nick's too distracted to track it, just registers the sound more than the meaning. 

"Leds," Saader complains, flexing his foot so his toes dig pointedly into Nick's thigh.

"Huh, what?" Nick says, attention going back to the there and now in a hurry.

Saader just laughs quietly and shakes his head. "Are you half-asleep? And you claim I sleep all the time."

Nick reaches over and flicks his knee, grinning at the way Saader flinches reflexively. "You do sleep all the time."

"I'm awake now," Saader says, and Nick has to bite back his instinctive reply, because they're good friends but they're definitely not the kind of friends who can make jokes about all the kinds of things that certain bits of Saader being awake might be implying.

"What'd you want to do, anyway?" Saader asks after a moment. 

Nick pats his knee, realizes he's doing it and then snatches his hand back, hoping Saader didn't notice. "I dunno, we could watch a movie or something?"

Saader's got a Playstation and all, but when it's just the two of them they don't game all that much. Mostly that's a hanging out with Shawzy thing. Nick wouldn't mind getting Saader involved in their DDR marathons at their place, actually; he's got a good sense of rhythm as well as the coordination. They've only been playing together for a couple of months but Nick's already very aware of how soft Saader's hands are. He's got a light touch for a man his size, and there's a reason he's mostly been playing up with Hoss and Tazer. Nick'd be a liar if he didn't admit he was into that, too. 

That thought's as good as a reminder to stop and catch himself again, though, and Nick makes himself stop fidgeting, looks over at Saader again. Saader's just waiting for him to stop wandering off into his own little world, a tiny smile playing over his lips. 

"Movie sounds good," he says, and he reaches over to the coffee table to pick up the remote, tossing it into Nick's lap. "You can pick, I'm tired."

"What was I saying about sleeping all the time, huh?" Nick teases. 

If Saader's admitting to being tired then that's as good an admission as any that he'll be out cold half an hour into whatever they wind up watching. That means Nick's not going to be all that picky either, especially if he's going to be watching it by himself.

"Tattoo Nightmares it is then," he says with a grin, and Saader groans and dramatically throws an arm over his face. 

"It's not that bad," Nick says, because it's not, and it's kind of cool seeing what they come up with to hide some really godawful tattoos. 

"Mmm," Saader says skeptically, but he doesn't fight him for the remote, or ask for anything else, so Nick's going to just roll with that.

Just as he'd predicted, Brandon's asleep before they're even halfway through the episode. Nick's leg is falling asleep too; he hasn't moved in longer than he should have, but if he actually stretches it out he's going to wake Saader up. That shouldn't be a big deal, and it wouldn't be, not really—Saader would understand for sure—but Nick's reluctant to do it. He looks so peaceful, lashes dark against his cheeks, lips parted as he breathes in and out evenly, the strain of the condensed season falling away while he's unconscious.

Nick should maybe feel a little creepy about watching Saader sleep, but he passed that mile marker weeks ago, and by this point he's mostly accepted it. It's nice to get a chance to look at him without worrying what someone else will see or think. 

Saader's eyelids twitch, and Nick snatches his gaze back, stares unseeingly at the TV again as he bites his lip, sneaks a quick glance to see if he was just stirring or actually waking up again. It turns out to be the latter, and his foot digs into Nick's ass for a heart-stopping second while he flexes and tries to sit up, still a little dopey and half-asleep.

"Gah, sorry," Saader says, and he pats at Nick's elbow—the closest part he can reach—before settling again. "What'd I miss?"

Nick glances at the screen for a clue and freezes because the guy they're talking to now has some kind of terrible tattoo _on his dick_ , and there's just no good way to explain that. Nick doesn't mind a little pain in bed, but that's about six bridges too far for him to even imagine really.

"I don't think they can show what happens next unless it was on Showtime," he says, joking awkwardly, and Brandon's eyebrows go up, and then he glances at the screen again and says, "Oh," in a very different tone of voice.

Nick can work with that. 

He seizes the moment gratefully, says, "Right? God, that would hurt," and Saader nods agreement, his eyes still wide in a way that makes him look younger than usual.

Maybe Nick should've changed the channel, or the conversation, but if there's anything he's learned playing hockey for like the last twenty years of his life, it's the bonding power of dick jokes, so he tells Saader about the story that Dave from high school swore on his life was totally true, and then Brandon tells him something he claims Tro did in Saginaw, and Nick would be more suspicious about that normally, but he's met Vincent Trocheck and it wouldn't surprise him, so.

And just like that, it's another day they've spent hanging out, easy and regular as anything. Nick could get used to this.

Nick pretty much is getting used to it.

* * *

They wind up at Brandon's place again maybe a week or so later, their first real chance to stop and take a breath after two back-to-backs in quick succession with a road trip over the latter half. Nick shamelessly calls dibs on the end of the couch with the footrest and sprawls out, thoroughly intending to follow up lunch by napping without even having to move. He's been pulling more minutes than he's played before, except for maybe college, but then they had one or two games a week, and not five. He feels closer to exhausted than he remembers being at this point in the season, but the playoffs are just around the corner, and they just have to keep the pace until then, keep themselves on the right track.

Saader lets him have that half of the couch without even trying to argue, or jokingly wrestle with him over it, which is another thing Nick likes about him. Andy will push back just for the sake of it half the time, naturally contrary and prone to picking fights just for fun. He's clear enough about it that it doesn't bother Nick; that's just Shawzy being Shawzy, but being around Saader is so much more relaxing.

At least, it usually is.

That day, Nick can't seem to settle, can't get his attention to track along with the movie Saader wanted to watch, can't shut his brain off long enough to actually fall asleep either. His fidgeting must have been truly off-the-charts noticeable, because after about twenty minutes Brandon makes a grumbling noise and reaches over to grab his hand where Nick's been distractedly picking at the seam on the outside of his shorts. Brandon's hand covering his is enough of a surprise that it makes him slow down, makes him _stop_ instantly.

He breathes out slowly through his nose and relaxes right back into the couch, feeling inexplicably calmer, soothed right down to his core by the simple pressure of Brandon's hand on his. And that's—

That's not normal, and it's almost definitely noticeable, and Nick had been trying so hard to hide how much he wants this, and now it's like every bit of tension that had just vanished from his body at that touch has slammed back into him with force. He bites his lip and closes his eyes and hopes that Brandon doesn't ask. There's probably still a way to play this off that lets him keep some semblance of dignity.

"Leds?" Saader says softly, and he traces an abstract pattern on the back of Nick's hand with his thumb, gentle and encouraging, not running away at all. That's something, at least.

Nick considers playing dumb for a moment, or pretending to be asleep, or _something_ , anything, but he's the world's worst liar at the best of times. When his exhausted, bruised body is trying to betray him by popping an inconvenient boner over one of his best friends…well, he doesn't think this scenario is going to be any kind of improvement in terms of how convincing a lie he could pull off.

"Do you feel okay?" Saader asks, brows creased, concerned. 

Nick's horribly sure that he blushes in response. Thank god he's wearing dark colored pants, too. "Uh, yeah. I'm—I'm fine, Saader."

And because Nick's luck is terrible if he has any luck at all, Brandon's gaze dips for just long enough for him to notice enough, and there is a terribly long pause. It somehow feels even longer than the last time Nick wound up in the box on a minor, and god knows those seconds always stretch out agonizingly. Saader's not pulling away, though. If anything, Nick thinks with a vaguely fevered rush of blood to the head, his pulse pounding in his ears, compounded by nerves—

If anything, Brandon leans closer.

He should probably stop holding his breath, Nick thinks, fatalistically calm, just before Brandon says, much higher pitched than normal, "…oh. Oh! Sorry?" 

Nick clears his throat, a little unsteady, much quieter than usual and decides to just fucking go for it. To at least get this out in the open, off his chest, throwing some light on it all. And he says, "Don't be."

Brandon frowns, brows drawn together fractionally, and tilts his head to look at Nick consideringly, owl-like. If Nick's heart wasn't beating so fast he was worried it would somehow be visible from under his ribcage, he'd probably find that funny. Instead he has to try and breathe past the gut-deep yearning, the way he wants to just roll over and let Brandon do whatever he might want, his hands still gently covering Nick's wrist, weighing him down out of all proportion. Nick feels anchored, steady in a way that he's never really contemplated or realized he was missing before. Is this what he's done for people? Nick likes being reliable, stalwart, steady and calm. He responds to the people who need him to slow them down, to soothe them, the ones who need him to lean in and make them settle, and it makes him feel calmer too, makes him feel valued and useful. This feels… very different. 

Nick feels like he's been inhaling and inhaling and hasn't been able to let a breath out yet, compressed and shaped and molded, and he wants to expand into Brandon's space like his wings have just been unbound. Wants to let all his rough edges and uncertainties bump into the edges of Brandon's steady, quiet reserve. He tries to make his shoulders relax—they feel like they're up around his ears—and Brandon's hand tightens on his wrist in almost immediate response, thumb stroking over the vein, slipping easily onto the pressure point there.

Somehow, that steadies him even more.

"Leds?" Brandon says again. It's less of a question than it is a check-in, Brandon's cool gray eyes fixed on him, not looking away. Brandon might be unsure of what they're doing too, but he's not afraid of it.

"I, uh, I want—" Nick gets out, and then he freezes. This isn't his usual script, he has no idea to what to say on this side of the conversation. He's never _done this_ before, as much as he might have had occasional quiet, vaguely guilty thoughts about what it might be like to be with someone who could put him under, instead of being the one doing the holding down. 

Brandon's still wearing that considering expression, but he comes to some kind of decision, chin coming up, jaw firm. 

"Can I sit closer?" Brandon asks.

"Yes," Nick says promptly. It's harder than he thinks it should be to get the words out but he wants, he _wants_.

Brandon shuffles in closer, hip to hip with Nick, shoulder to shoulder. Rubs his thumb harder over the thin skin of his wrist, dragging tiny circles around the jut of bone. Nick is suddenly, bizarrely grateful they'd sat this way to start with by chance; if Brandon was on his other side his watch would be in the way, and as innocent as this touch is, Nick doesn't want to think about missing out on it. 

A second's worth of thought along those lines leaves Nick imagining Brandon unfastening his watch and setting it carefully on the coffee table, out of the way and safely stowed because he knows Nick and he knows how Nick takes care of his possessions, how careful he is with what's precious to him. And that just makes Nick's pulse race even faster.

Nick would have wanted to hold Brandon down from the first moment he'd met him if he'd ever thought for even a second that that would be something Brandon might like.

He's certainly happy to consider it the other way around. Especially now that it seems like that's something that could actually happen.

"Can I kiss you?" Brandon asks next, disarmingly direct, and Nick almost trips over his own tongue in his hurry to say yes.

It starts out relatively chaste; Brandon's lips against his, parted just a little, his breath tickling warm against the side of Nick's upper lip. Nick relaxes into it and Brandon seizes that momentum to deepen the kiss, and somehow in the space of maybe seventeen seconds they've gone from almost plausibly deniable lips brushing to making out enthusiastically enough that it makes Nick blush just to imagine what they'd look like. 

"I'm not imagining it, am I," Brandon starts to say, twisting around on the couch so that he's facing Nick, looking right at him, "you really want this, right?"

Nick gives a raw, half-choking laugh. "So much. I thought—I was just never sure you would, Saader."

Brandon absolutely pins him in place with the look that comment prompts. "Leds—Nick, I want this. Want you. I swear. I just always thought—I didn't think I was your type."

Nick can't help laughing at that. It's so completely the opposite of the truth, it's almost farcial. Nonsensical. 

"Are you kidding? I've been trying to tell myself to stop looking because you were probably straight since, like. Rockford. Fuck, since training camp your first year," Nick corrects himself, and bites his lip, because he'd never actually thought about it in those exact words before, but they feel true. They feel accurate. 

"I'm really not straight," Brandon says, almost solemnly. He swallows, scrambles undignifiedly to his feet and then before Nick can even brace himself properly, Brandon's crawling into his lap, knees either side of his thighs, perched above him, all his weight coming down on Nick's thighs.

Nick's painfully hard basically immediately. 

"Not straight," he repeats, "really into you, god, you have no idea how long I wanted to do this," and he leans in again to kiss Nick, mouth open and demanding and mind-blowingly good.

Nick's brain basically rolls over and purrs, absolutely blissed out. Brandon rocks a little, shifting his weight just enough that it ratchets Nick's arousal even higher, giving him almost enough pressure on his dick to get anything going. And he doesn't think that's an accident, either, not with the way Brandon's grinning against his mouth. Not with the way that he's so carefully rubbing the heel of his hand over one of Nick's nipples on top of his shirt, tugging it between thumb and forefinger when it pebbles up, making Nick gasp into his mouth and buck under him.

"This is okay, right?" Brandon asks, his other hand on Nick's hip. Nick's pretty sure Brandon's about three seconds away from going for his zipper, and Nick is more than happy to do whatever he can to expedite _that_. "It's not—too much?"

"I like it," Nick confesses, all in a rush. "You feel so good on me like this."

Brandon shifts again, even more deliberately, and Nick moans, his eyes squeezing tight closed for a second. He wants to push back, wants to get Brandon to really use his weight, to hold him down with intent and not just inertia, but they're probably not in the best position for that. It would really suck if either of them fell over and brained themselves on the coffee table, that's for sure. 

"Yeah?" Brandon says, and the pleased curl of his lip sparks deep into Nick's chest, makes his breath come faster and makes it feel like the room's just jumped fifteen degrees. Nick would really like to be wearing less.

"You wanna move this to your bed?" Nick manages to ask, feeling wildly accomplished for putting that many words together logically while Brandon's hand is that close to his dick. His pants are way, way too tight for this to be comfortable.

"Fuck yes," Brandon says promptly, but he leans in to kiss Nick one more time before climbing off of him again. 

"Thank god," Nick says, once he's got his breath back enough to make words happen, but Brandon's not sticking around waiting for that; he's on his feet and waiting with barely leashed patience for Nick to get up and follow him.

They're kissing again by the time they stagger through the bedroom doorway, and Brandon's hands are frantic as he tugs Nick's clothing off him, dropping everything onto the rug beside the bed. Nick would do more to get Brandon undressed as well, but it seems to be faster to let Brandon strip him first, and then he pauses to just look at Nick for a few seconds, greedy and heated.

"Would you—" Brandon starts, and then catches himself. "You can just kick the blankets off, I'll get them later if you can get on the bed now."

He seems uncertain again then, for the first time in a few minutes, and Nick's not sure what's wrong. And then he replays what Brandon had just asked him—asked, diffidently, like he wasn't sure he was supposed to, and suddenly Nick is sure of exactly where their wires have gotten crossed.

"Brandon," he says, and enjoys the way Brandon licks his lips in instinctive response to hearing his name in Nick's mouth. "When you said you didn't think you were my type… you didn't mean guys, did you?"

"Uh, no?" Brandon says. "I mean. I've heard you talk about Housley, c'mon. You're not good at subtle. Also, well. Duncs."

Nick's not touching that one with a ten foot pole, even if he would, technically, be maybe admitting to a stupid crush on one teammate to another teammate he was apparently _having sex with_ , but either way, he's missing the point. Brandon is missing the point.

"I want this just as much as you do," Nick says. "Uh, just exactly the way you do."

Brandon stills, hands freezing where they're working at the fastening of his jeans. "Meaning?"

"I want you to hold me down," Nick admits, because if he can't say it when he's naked in Brandon's bed when is he going to be able to? "I always thought I was just-I only wanted one side of that, but it turns out I'm, uh, more flexible than that. So you don't have to, uh, rein it in, or whatever."

"Oh," Brandon says again. "That's—that's really hot, fuck." Something in him seems to have settled at Nick's confession, makes him look wholly confident again, now that he knows exactly what Nick's after, what he wants and what he's expecting. It makes him even more attractive than usual, fully at home with himself, now that Nick's made it clear that that's exactly what he needs, too. 

Nick lies back on the mattress and relaxes into it, trusting Brandon to take control. He's not disappointed.

Brandon strips off quickly and methodically, and somehow manages to look graceful crawling into bed once he's done with that. If Nick wasn't so turned on he could hardly see straight he'd probably be a little jealous. 

"Safe word?" Brandon asks softly, and Nick tells him, waits for Brandon to repeat it back to him, nodding his head as he does. "Can I use the same one?" he asks, and that does make Nick pause for a second, before he says, "Yeah, that's okay."

"Great," Brandon says, and kisses him like it's a reward, like sweet gratitude with the very brightest edge of sharp promise hiding behind it. Nick shudders and feels like he's melting.

"Can you put your arms above your head for me?" Brandon asks, once he's sat up again, and this time it's not really a question. Nick's moving before he's even consciously registered the words, his arms reaching up towards the pillows at the head of the bed, crossing his wrists automatically before his fingertips brush the wrought iron headboard. The metal's cool against his fingers, and Nick imagines holding onto it, gripping till his knuckles go white while Brandon does something, anything, _everything_ , and oh, yes, he wasn't kidding himself in the slightest, he is—

Definitely into this.

"Perfect," Brandon says, and Nick lets the praise wrap around him like a second skin, almost as good as the way Brandon's hands move over his body then, exploring with no pattern that Nick can discern. He runs a hand from Nick's ankle up to his hip and back down again a few times, traces the outlines of his biceps and triceps. Kisses along his collar bone, drags his thumb in spirals around the divot under his hip bones, bites at his pecs just hard enough to have him hissing in a breath.

The soft, ceaseless touches go on for what feels like forever to Nick, and he feels himself settle into a kind of daze, boneless with pleasure, aching with arousal, drifting in the moment with the same degree of intensity that Brandon's aiming at him as he keeps touching and touching, always anchored by the cool metal at his fingertips and the weight of Brandon's gaze, the affection in it.

He's not sure how long it is after that before Brandon finally ups the ante again; he's just as naked as Nick is, so Nick knows full well that Brandon is just as turned on as he is, can see that he's hard, dick bobbing a little as he moves, the head shiny and wet, dripping precome onto the sheets and onto Nick when Brandon stretches over him, runs a palm down the far side of his body. Nick wants to touch, so so badly, but he'll wait till Brandon invites him to. 

"Spread," Brandon instructs him quietly, hand on Nick's thigh, and he does so, splays his legs open, and Brandon curls his hand over the top of Nick's quads and then—down his inner thigh. So carefully, so very carefully that he doesn't touch Nick's cock even with the side of his wrist or any part of his hand in passing, and Nick can't hold back the frustrated moan at that point.

Brandon smirks, just for a moment, exhaling satisfaction, and then he curls his fingers around Nick's aching dick, fucking _finally_ , sheer relief for all of ten seconds before he adds, casually like Nick's not straining for every instruction, everything that Brandon wants to give him, "Don't come."

He didn't say anything about being quiet, so Nick doesn't bite back the frustrated moan, doesn't hold back any of the sounds Brandon's wringing from him with this steady, careful hand-job, lets his eyes close as he tips his head back, straining upwards, his muscles trembling as he gasps and begs and moans some more.

It might've been a while since Nick actually got laid, but he's got good control at least, shuddering and twitching under Brandon's touch, losing himself in how good it feels, stretching out endlessly and quieting his mind, so that he can't think of anything else but then, the endless moment suspended between need and want. 

He's not sure how long he holds out, but it must be long enough, because by the time he forces his eyes open and catches Brandon's gaze, urgently says, "I can't—I can't, Brandon, I'm gonna come," Brandon just looks so fucking pleased and says, "Okay, you can come now," and he ducks down and sucks the head of Nick's cock into his mouth, which ups the ante enough that Nick doesn't get more than about seven seconds to enjoy that before he's spilling hot into Brandon's mouth, hips jerking up as he comes. 

Brandon swallows, too.

Nick feels like a puppet with all its strings cut, sags back and only then starts to realize the ache in his shoulders from holding his arms away all this time, only then noticing the way he's covered in sweat, the sheet underneath sticking to him, satisfaction winding smoothly through every nerve in his body.

"Fuck," he says, letting the word draw out. "Holy shit, Saader." He starts to sit up and then remembers he isn't sure he's allowed to move, yet. He'd like to, but it's not imperative, he's happy enough still to wait for Brandon. 

Something about that chain of thought must show on his face, though, because Brandon rests a hand over his belly lightly and says, "It's okay, you can move, whatever now. It's fine."

Nick lets the warmth of that percolate through him, too, feels accomplished for as long as it takes him to remember that sure, he just came, but Brandon _hasn't_ , and he sits up fast, all that hard-won serenity starting to slide out of his grasp. 

"You didn't get off," Nick says, the words coming out almost accusatory. He's always made sure his partners get off first, get off at least once, anyway, so he hadn't stopped to think while it was happening, just let Brandon guide him as he wanted to. And, okay, if Brandon didn't want to get off then Nick would respect that, but he did feel like he'd messed up somehow. And in complete honesty…he wants to see that. Wants to watch Brandon lose it, watch him surrender the way he never does usually. Nick wants it with a slow burn all the way from his fingers to his toes.

"I like waiting," Brandon says, breathless, without the slightest bit of shame. Nick adds that to the apparently endless list of things that get him hot, because he's going to be thinking about this again later, that's for sure; Brandon sweaty and smug and so close to coming, just from what he'd done with Nick. Brandon, making himself wait and wait, wait until Nick shivered through his own orgasm and then came back to functionality. Brandon, looking at him like that. Fuck, _Brandon_.

Nick reaches out carefully, thumbs a couple drops of precome off the head of Brandon's dick, dragging just over the slit and then brings his hand back to his own mouth, sucking his fingers clean again. Brandon makes a strangled sound, staring at Nick like it's his job. 

"How much longer do you want to wait?" Nick asks.

"Now's good," Brandon says without missing a beat.

Nick leans over to kiss him again, saliva-damp fingers tugging and stroking at Brandon's erection while he does, and his hand is even wetter again shortly after that, as Brandon spills over his fingers, muffling his own sounds into Nick's mouth.

Wordlessly, they shift around on the bed after that, trying to steer clear of the wet spot. Brandon loses the silent argument they have with their eyebrows about who's going to get up long enough to rescue the blankets so they can actually nap, but before too long Nick's wrapped around Brandon, his lips just brushing against the nape of his neck, arm slung around him as they relax into sleep.

Brandon seems happy to be the little spoon, although Nick gets the impression that he'd happily trade off if Nick wanted him to.

Seems like that versatility might be true of more than one part of his life, he thinks with a snort, but Nick's certainly happy with how that's working out so far. He doesn't think he's reading too much into it to think this isn't going to be the only time this happens, either.

Nick's more than happy enough with that, too.

-end-


End file.
